


His First Spell

by iulia_linnea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/pseuds/iulia_linnea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus isn't really thirsty. He's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His First Spell

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 9 January 2008 for [omniocular](http://omniocular.livejournal.com/profile)'s January Challenge, [spells, jinxes, curses, and charms](http://omniocular.livejournal.com/182817.html). Thank you, [stasia](http://stasia.livejournal.com/profile), for beta'ing.

His mam used the spell all the time, well, when Da wasn't around. It looked simple enough, too. No one could get in trouble for using it in a house where it was already being used, in a house with a witch—even if she did her best not to act like one. Yes, it was the spell. He could learn it. He could learn it without a wand. He _would_ learn it, and then he wouldn't need either of them.

 _I'm not so small_.

Severus hated them, his parents—his mam for cringing, Da for making her cringe, both of them for never tucking him in or bringing him a glass of water. 

_I'm not weak, just thirsty_.

He would learn the spell by watching his mam. Yes, that's what he would do, and then he'd never be thirsty at night again. That was the only trouble with nighttime, being thirsty. He wasn't afraid of the dark. He was a big boy. He was a _wizard_.

 _Water's important. We're made of mostly it an' it goes in the cauldron first an' it cleans things—and I'm not dirty, either, no matter what_ he _says_.

The laundry, all that boiling water and soapy air hanging in clouds in the small shack behind their hovel—big boys did so use words like "hovel," even if they got smacked for sounding better'n they should—'course he _looked_ dirty after working in there with his mam. 

_Da_ never _does any work, the mean old—don't even think like that. Your arm's still almost too sore to be of any use_.

He didn't like to trouble her while they were washing, and at supper it was always grey milk. Why shouldn't he be allowed a glass of water by his bed? She knew he was always thirsty, and he _wouldn't_ break it. He _knew_ they only had the four glasses. He also knew why his mam wouldn't make any more.

 _Da's afraid of it, her magic. He'll be afraid of_ mine _, too, one day. He will. I'm going to learn it_.

It would be his first spell: Aguamenti. Without a wand. Without a word. 

_I'm going to make my own water_.

He wasn't sure, with the magic, if he'd be making the water, really, or if he'd be summoning it—his mam had talked to him about summoning things, when Da wasn't around. He liked the idea of being able to summon things, things he needed, things he wanted.

 _I don't like being thirsty all the time_.

It didn't matter that he hadn't had much time to practice, what with all the work to be done, or that he hadn't yet got the knack. He'd do it. He would. He saw his mam fill the cauldrons in the wash shack every day. Adults used wands, but he would show them, he'd show everyone.

 _I'm not going to_ need _a wand_.

And he wasn't afraid of the dark. He wasn't. Or the sounds _they_ made sometimes. Or the _other_ sounds. Wizards weren't afraid of sounds, or the dark, or of being so thirsty all the time. He was a big boy. He didn't _need_ water. He just wanted it. One day soon, he'd be better. One day soon he wouldn't want anything from anyone.

 _Might make a lot of spells of my own, too—ones to stop hitting—ones to stop hitters_.

He didn't really believe it was her fault, his mam's, for letting Da hit her. Not really. No, it wasn't. No one liked being hit, just like no one liked being thirsty.

 _Don't ask for water. It'll just make him hit her more 'cause you whinged_.

Everything made Da hit his mam, the stupid cow. She was a witch! She should act like one!

 _She can fill the cauldrons in two swishes and one flick_!

Aguamenti. _Aguamenti_. Aguamenti! Even in his head, it sounded right—so why wasn't it working? He'd been at it for days, practicing. Days. Nights, really. Dark ones.

 _I'm not afraid. Not of the dark, not of being thirsty_.

He wasn't afraid of a bastard of a Muggle, either. Yeah, he knew _that_ word, too. He just needed to shut his eyes against the darkness and his ears against the _sounds_ , and then he could do it, learn his spell.

 _My first spell_.

He was a big boy. A wizard—almost—and he was going to be able to cast Aguamenti for himself in no time. Really. . . .

 _But where will I get a glass to put it in_?

He knew he wasn't so big as to be able to conjure a glass. 'Course, that was his mam's fault.

 _'Cause she won't do any conjuring_.

He was so thirsty. They were so loud. Neither one of them ever kissed him good night. No one had ever tucked him in. But he was a big boy.

_Aguamenti._

His mam used the spell all the time, even if only for the poxy cauldrons.


End file.
